‘I will carry you.’ He picked her up in his arms. ‘It is not far. As these things go.’
When she did not answer he peered down to see that she’d passed out. He hurried onward.
After walking across the dusty landscape for a time, the lad Janul made a gesture and with a burst of dry dusty air he emerged into darkness and a rainstorm. He squinted into the lashing rain. Nearby, waves struck the coast in a strong slow beat. He walked on until a weak yellow light grew ahead. It resolved into a lantern under the eaves of a rude hut of greyed slats and thatch. He pushed open the door.
The hut was empty but for a wizened elder seated in a chair next to a small fire. Candles of all lengths burned everywhere, giving the single-roomed dwelling a golden light. The ancient tilted her head, blinking, ‘Who comes to old Rose’s poor home?’
Janul saw by her frosted opaque eyes that she was blind.
‘My sister is wounded,’ he said, and laid her upon the bed of bundled straw.
‘Ah,’ Rose said. ‘Your sister, you say? There is a price for healing in this hut – and I do not mean coin.’
He waved his curt assent, then realized his mistake and said, ‘Yes, yes.’
The old woman pushed herself from her chair and approached, a hand extended. ‘Well, let us see …’ Janul guided her to Janelle. The ancient hissed when her hands found the girl. She tsked. ‘So young, yet her life’s flame gutters. She hasn’t enough strength left to pay the price.’
‘I have.’
Rose laughed, a harsh mocking cackle. ‘It’s not so easy as that, boy!’
‘For us it is,’ and he guided the woman’s other hand to his face. She felt at both, Janelle’s and his, and her breath hissed from her in wonder. ‘Twins! Bonds forged in the womb.’ She nodded, ‘Aye, it may work.’ She pinched his chin. ‘Know you the price, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘I shall take of your life’s candle. Both of your years shall diminish while mine shall lengthen. You are agreed?’
He looked down at his twin, her face such an eerie echo of his own. ‘Aye. Agreed.’
Rose waved a crooked hand to the bed. ‘Lay you down next to your sister, then. I must prepare.’
He gently edged Janelle over and placed an arm under her head and closed his eyes.
Janelle awoke in a cramped bed in a cramped hut full of evil-smelling, choking smoke. Waving a hand before her, coughing from the harsh sooty fumes, she found the door and staggered out.
Then she stopped and stared at her bare unmarred feet.
What had happened?
Her ears were roaring and somewhere distant it sounded as if someone was calling her name. She raised her gaze to peer uncomprehendingly at a rocky coastline and a horizon of iron-grey water. A figure rose from a boulder near the surf and climbed the shore. As he neared she recognized him and could not believe her eyes. Grinning so familiarly, he took her shoulders.
‘Good to see you.’
She raised her hands to his face, brushed her fingertips there. ‘It really is you – I thought I’d dreamed you.’
‘Yes, it’s me.’
Her gaze sharpened. ‘What happened?’
‘I brought you to a healer.’
She studied his face, so like her own – wider and blunter than she’d have wished. ‘We have no coin, brother.’
He lifted his chin to the hut behind them. ‘She’s a wax-witch.’
Janelle sagged a little. ‘So, I paid with my life’s years.’
He shrugged. ‘We both did, sister.’
She clenched his hands now, tightly. ‘Both? Oh, Janul …’
‘You don’t think I’d let a few years come between us, do you?’
She now touched her own face, expecting to feel wrinkles and dry ancient flesh. ‘What will happen? How will it happen?’
‘The witch, Rose, said we will just age more quickly.’ He directed her to a nearby rock and invited her to sit. ‘I don’t imagine I’ll be living too long, in any case.’
She chuckled at that. ‘Nor I.’
They sat side by side in silence for a time, until the crunch of footsteps behind made them turn. A woman approached, in skirts, a knitted shawl about her shoulders. Janelle thought her just past middle age.
‘Rose?’ Janul asked, wonder in his voice. ‘You are … that is, you can see.’
She nodded. ‘Aye. I bloom brighter for a time. But that too shall pass, as all years do. You two are young; you do not understand as yet.’
‘Nor do we want to,’ Janul said.
The witch smiled knowingly. ‘In time you will. Then you will clutch at your years as all do.’
‘Not I,’ Janelle said.
The witch, Rose, drew a blackened pipe from her bosom. ‘Ever foolish are the young – perhaps that’s what makes them young.’
‘Any more fireside wisdom?’ Janul asked.
The woman was scraping the pipe bowl. ‘Do not think me simple, little ones.’ She gestured to them with the pipe. ‘You two are children of Shadow. Your master is set upon overturning every applecart he can reach. I do not approve of his methods, but I understand his motives – how else is he to make room for himself, hey?’
The twins eyed one another uncertainly.
Rose waved a dismissal. ‘Faugh. Do not worry. Your secrets are safe with me. I am just a simple wax-witch. Push and pull go the fates.’ She walked off, repeating in a singsong voice, ‘Push and pull.’
The twins waited until she was out of earshot, then Janul asked, ‘What did you learn?’
Janelle nodded, and whispered, ‘The tribes bicker as always, but they are close to moving against Itko Kan. All it may take is a push.’
At that last word Janul frowned and glanced at the witch, who walked the shore now, hands at her back, puffing on the pipe. ‘Very good,’ he murmured, distracted.
‘And the west?’ Janelle asked.
‘I am with a troop of soldiers.’
Janelle waved him from that. ‘Head to Dal Hon – I’m known now. You’ll have to take over.’
But her twin shook his head. ‘No. I see possibilities. I should remain. You stay here in Kan. Keep an eye on things.’
Janelle nodded. ‘Thank you, brother. But … what possibilities?’ She took his hand.
‘These troops have been outlawed and are on the run, hunted by both Purge and Quon Talian armies with nowhere to turn.’
‘So?’
He shrugged, but a grin climbed his lips. ‘Well – they’re only a few days from the coast.’
Her eyes widened as she saw it, and she squeezed his hand before releasing it. ‘Yes. Go. I will try to make the arrangements, but I have not heard from the Magister of late.’
‘He is travelling beyond reach.’
Janelle gave a curt nod, accepting this. ‘Ah. Then I will contact one of our sisters working among the Claws.’
Janul seconded the nod. ‘Accepted. You will be all right?’
She waved him off. ‘Yes. Go. You may be missed.’
He rose, still reluctant, but she gave him a hug. ‘Thank you, brother.’
He nodded. ‘Very well. Until later.’
‘Yes.’
* * *
Ullara rode her two-wheeled cart northward across the rolling central Seti Plains. The sickly mule her father had given her – the least of his stock – flourished under her care. Free to eat as much wild grass as he liked, he filled out; his coat thickened and became glossy.
She had never been outside Li Heng proper, but she’d heard that northward lay the trading outpost of Ifaran, and beyond that would lie the barrier of the Brittlewash that ran down to meet the Idryn at Ipras. She understood that the headwaters of the Brittlewash could be found somewhere in the immense tracts of the Forest Fenn. And beyond that, everyone claimed, rose the vast mountains of the Great Fenn Range – which few, if any, had ever actually seen, let alone visited.
The Fenn Range was her goal, unrealistic though it might be – especially for a young bli
nd girl all alone. Though she was not alone, not really. Her helpers and guardians hovered close, sometimes even perching upon the much-scarred wood of the cart, while the chief of her companions soared high above, taller than a man, able to bring down an adult bhederin: one of the giant eagles of the Fenn Range, whom she had given the name Prince. And her aim was to return him to his home.
She did not have to hunt, as her providers were many. Each day they came, depositing their offerings of the wild’s abundance: mice, voles, ferrets, mink, hares, badgers, and once Prince even dropped an entire rust-hued deer.
After that near disaster she trained them to bring her only the long-eared hares, which she preferred.
When evening came she would merely reach out to the mule, whom she’d named Bright, to halt, then climb down and unharness him to let him roam free. She could not see herself, but even when she did have eyes she’d always ‘borrowed’ the vision of her birds to see far and wide. Now she maintained these connections day and night and found that she could see far better now than with her old eyes. In fact, she could see better at night than during the day, and would even have travelled through the dark but for poor Bright.
She was also not alone on the wilds of the Seti plains. Fellow travellers skirted her, warily giving her distance, as did hunters and other such wanderers. Honest travellers, however, were not the only ones on the plains. Exiles, outcasts and other such criminals also haunted its hills. Early on, one such gang had chanced upon her trail. A young woman alone – they thought they’d found easy prey.
The moment the party closed upon the cart her companions tore their faces off and ate their viscera. She left their bodies where they lay as a warning to others. Word, she imagined, was spreading of the crazy woman, or whatever they were calling her, travelling northwards.
The only time she was truly alone was each evening when she made a modest fire and set her meal to cook on a stick. Her companions did not like the fire. During these times her vision occasionally failed her.
It was during one such evening, by the fire, west of the trading post of New Seti, that she had her first true visitors. Thanks to all her night-hunting companions, her night vision was sharp, and so she watched them approach: a band of Seti who dismounted at a respectful distance while one of their number closed upon her small fire. She recalled the strongest of her night hunters and waited.
Her visitor proved to be an old Seti woman wrapped in a thick shawl covered in feathers. The woman paused a short distance off and called, ‘May I share the warmth of your fire?’
‘Come.’
Sighing, the woman eased herself down close to the weak flames and extended her hands to the heat, such as it was. ‘My thanks. Hospitality is rare among you outsiders.’
‘What of your band who wait in the night?’
‘Band?’ the woman echoed, chuckling. She waved a dismissive hand. ‘Just my honour guard. I am Tolth, daughter of Amal, shaman of my clan – the Eagle Clan.’
‘Ullara, daughter of Renalt.’
The old woman inclined her head in acceptance of this, all the while eyeing her carefully, and it did seem to Ullara that the woman’s gaze was sharp and piercing – like that of a bird of prey. ‘You are out riding at night?’ Ullara asked.
Tolth smiled. ‘No. Word has spread among us Seti of the bird-woman.’
‘Bird-woman?’
‘That is what you have been named.’
‘Ah.’
‘And I am here to offer you a place among us. Among the Eagle Clan. It would be a place of honour, you can be certain of that.’
This was not what Ullara had been expecting at all and she let out a breath, quite overwhelmed. It took her a while to find the words to respond. ‘I … well, my thanks. But I must … that is, I feel called to the north. I don’t know why – I just feel it.’
The old woman was obviously disappointed, but she nodded knowingly. ‘I understand. A journey of the spirit and the flesh.’ Grunting with the effort, she pushed herself to her feet. ‘Very well. But the offer stands. Once you are finished in the north and wish to move on … think of us.’
‘I will. My thanks.’
The woman paused, raising a hand. ‘Permission to leave a few of my young bloods as escort?’
Ullara was not comfortable with the idea. ‘I don’t – that is, there is no need.’
‘They would consider it an honour. And there are river crossings ahead. You may need the help.’
She considered this, and relented. ‘Very well, my thanks. But they must keep their distance.’
The old woman chuckled once more. ‘Oh, they will. Of that you can be sure.’ She inclined her head. ‘Travel well. And I hope we shall meet again.’
‘Fare well.’
So she acquired her own honour guard, of a sort. And they did keep their distance, either at the shaman’s orders, or their own discretion. Only when the cart became stuck did they approach, as the ground became rougher the further she journeyed north.
Weeks after this, close to the northern boundary of Seti lands, Ullara had one last visitor.
He came at dusk, walking openly, and she saw him long before her escort. Once they caught sight of him the warriors of the Eagle Clan came rushing in, pale, bows readied.
Their leader stood before her. ‘The man-beast approaches,’ he managed, his voice hoarse. ‘We will defend you, of course, as we swore. But ready yourself, as there is little anyone can do against him.’
She raised a hand to him. ‘Stand aside, Orren – it is Orren, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. But—’
‘Stand aside,’ she repeated. ‘I order it.’
‘But—’
‘Stand aside! I will meet him.’
Amazed, perhaps even awed, the Seti warrior bowed to one knee before her. ‘As you order.’ He waved off the ten men and women of his troop, and they withdrew.
A short time later the tall shape of the upright man-beast, Ryllandaras, the White Jackal – whom some named the Curse of Quon – approached. Frankly terrified, yet determined to hold to her instinct not to run, she stared up at the great giant. All wire and muscle he appeared, his shaggy pale pelt crossed with scars, his eyes slit and glowing like hot amber. His blunt muzzle swung to left and right as he surveyed the surroundings; then he spoke, roughly, more like a measured cough. ‘And where is your guard?’
‘I sent them away.’
He crossed his thick, white-pelted arms. ‘Why would you do such a foolish thing?’
She replied, ‘Because I am in no danger,’ and was quite proud of the lack of quaver in her voice.
‘Really? You are in no danger? And why is that?’
She swallowed to steady her voice once again, and managed, clearly, ‘Because I know what a hunting animal looks like. And you are not hunting.’
The black lips drew back – revealing even more of his huge teeth – in what she thought might be an attempt at a smile. ‘You are correct. If I were hunting, you’d be dead.’
She saw no reason to dispute this. ‘To what, then, do I owe the honour of this visit?’
‘Honour?’ Ryllandaras grunted. ‘Few would name a visit from me an honour. But you are correct again. I have come to have a look at you.’
Her heart felt as if it were throwing itself against her chest – rather like a trapped bird. ‘Really? Whatever for?’
‘To see for myself. I have sensed it … but could not believe it. It has been a very long time.’
‘A long time since … what?’
The creature tilted his head, examining her. ‘Since anyone has touched upon the Beast Hold.’
‘The what?’
The monster grunted. ‘Instinctive, then. Perhaps as it should be. The Beast Hold is all about … instinct.’
Gathering her courage, Ullara dared, ‘I heard a rumour that the Five had captured you in Heng.’
Ryllandaras’s lips twitched as if in scorn. ‘Captured, hey? Well, haven’t you heard – I’m everywhere across th
e plains.’ And the creature seemed almost to wink one amber eye. It peered about as if searching the surroundings. ‘In any case, I have lingered long enough. I offer you your due.’
And to Ullara’s amazement, and terror, the man-beast inclined his head to her, as if in salute, then quick as thought bounded away. She sat stunned until her escort reappeared, and the first thing they did was bow on one knee to her.
A half-moon later they had reached so high into the foothills of the Fenn Range that the cart was of no more use. Her escort packed her remaining supplies on to Bright’s back.
‘You are bound to continue, then?’ Orren asked.
She took hold of Bright’s lead. ‘Yes.’
The youth – perhaps no older than she – eyed the heights dubiously. ‘There are things up in these lands that would care nothing for your … friends.’
‘Monsters, you mean?’ she asked, half-teasing.
He set his jaws. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘All the same.’
He sighed, eyed the distant snowy peaks once more. ‘Perhaps we should …’
‘No. Return to Tolth. Tell her what you have seen.’ The youth’s jaws worked. ‘I have my escort,’ she offered.
He sighed again, his hands clenching. ‘Very well. It is not for me to interfere.’
‘Fare well, then. And my thanks.’ Leaning forward and up, she kissed him on the cheek. The lad blushed a very livid red. His troop burst into laughter, quietening only when he glared.
She raised a hand to them all. ‘Fare thee well, children of the plains!’
Turning, she pulled on Bright’s lead, and started climbing. Her companions soared above, circling higher and higher, eager, it seemed, to feel the fierce winds of the heights.
Chapter 13
Dancer followed Kellanved through Shadow. The geography of this particular region was one of dry washes, steep canyons, and twisting erosional gullies that cut through multicoloured layers of compressed sands and gravels. They were rushing, but the quickest the seemingly aged mage could manage was a frustratingly slow shuffle. His patience with his partner near exhausted, Dancer asked again, ‘Is it there?’
‘I believe so,’ Kellanved answered, though his tone said he wasn’t certain.
Kellanved's Reach Page 22
